They walked in silence, Kase matching his long stride to her short quick one. They stepped off the boardwalk and crossed the street. They were on the other side before Kase spoke.
“What are you planning to do?”
“I will open a place to sell vittles. A café. A ristorante.”
“Why?”
She shrugged and finally looked up at him. “Because there is no good food here. I can cook.” She held her hands wide, unmindful of the basket, and shrugged again. “Why not?” Rosa stepped up on the boardwalk. “
Kase stood his ground in the street. They were nearly eye to eye. “I’m not going to be responsible for you if you stay.”
“Responsible?” The word was new to her.
“Yeah. I’m not going to worry about you or watch out for you—any more than I do for anyone else in this town.”
“And why should you do this for me, Marshal?”
“Just in case you had any notions after last night—”
“I think maybe we forget last night.” Rosa felt her cheeks burning: She turned away, set on escaping Marshal Kase Storm.
He reached out and grabbed her arm. Rosa glanced in both directions before she turned around to face him again.
“Why don’t you just leave town?” he persisted.
Her reserve snapped. “Dio! Why? I tell you why.” She set the basket on the walk beside her and planted one fist on her hip. Rosa held up her other hand and, thumb first, began to count off the reasons for him. “My brother, he say I’ll be back, so I’m not go back. You keep say I must go back. Signora Flossie say I can cook and make money here. Giovanni choose this place for me—” she raised her voice to emphasize her determination and opened both arms wide, appealing to him as she made her final argument—“and I want stay!”
At the end of her tirade, she calmed enough to notice that a stony silence was his only response.
Speak in a low voice.
Do not yell or wave your hands about.
Do not get excited in your discussions.
Dio! She realized every time she saw this man she broke the rules in the Guide for Italian Immigrants. Chagrined, Rosa reached down for her basket and in a more subdued tone informed him, “So that is why I stay. Sho’ nuf.”
She heard him sigh. It was the long, slow sigh of a man who had reached the end of his patience. Rosa waited to see what Kase would say. When he finally spoke, his voice was so low she barely heard the words he uttered.
“This isn’t the kind of place where you’re likely to find another husband.”
Confused, Rosa feared she had mistranslated his words. “Scusi?” The boldface words of the immigrant’s guide flashed before her eyes: “Beware of strange men offering proposals of marriage.”
“A woman can live here without marry, yes?”
“Look.” He pushed his hat back off his forehead and frowned. “Of course. But will you be content living alone forever?” He thought of the kiss they had shared. She was sensual, vibrant, a woman with plenty of love to give the right man. “The only candidates you’ll find around here are no-account drifters who haven’t the slightest intention of taking up with a decent woman.”
“And you?” she threw back at him.
“I don’t count.”
“No?”
“No. Most definitely not.”
“Because you hate Italians? You are too good for me?”
Was she so naive that she did not think the color of his skin mattered? “I’m afraid you’ve got that backwards.”
“Then it is because you think so little of yourself?”
Frustrated, Kase glared at her. “Look, Rose, I’m trying to tell you that for your own good you need to be wary. If you’re so set on staying, just don’t take up with the first man who comes along.”
She looked at him as if he had lost his mind. “In Italy,” she began, “the man visits the woman, brings flowers, meets the family of the woman. In Italy”—Rosa drew herself up as far as her diminutive height would allow and straightened her shoulders—“a man asks to marry when he is in love. It must be proper, correct. The flowers, the family. I’m not marry anybody I’m not knowing, or a man who does not know such things. And I’m not leave here.”
Rosa took a deep breath. After one look at his dark expression, she decided she had said enough. “Scusi, Signor Marshal,” she said stepping around him. “Buon giorno.”
The interior of Al-Ray’s was crowded floor to ceiling with goods. Rosa wove her way around the boxes and barrels stacked about the room, trying to keep her mind on the contents of display cases and shelves, but it was as hard to dismiss Kase Storm and his sudden proposal as it was to stop the angry trembling that had overtaken her the moment she stalked away from the infuriating man. She stopped, lost in thought, and stared at a cracker barrel near the counter. He had looked so surprised when he proposed that she could only surmise that his declaration was as sudden and innocent as it seemed. What had he been thinking of? Surely not love. They barely knew each other, and except for the kiss they had exchanged last night, she doubted that he even liked her.
There was the kiss to take into account. A kiss the likes of which she had never received before, even from Giovanni. Especially from Giovanni.
Rosa wished there was someone she could talk to about the strange doubts and feelings she had experienced in Kase Storm’s arms—feelings that should never have overcome a woman who was mourning her husband. Maybe Signora Flossie, she thought. If anyone would know anything about men, it would be someone in the signora’s business. If things got more confusing, perhaps the woman could help. Rosa decided to wait and see.
“May I help you?”
Rosa looked up at a dark-haired woman whose face was wreathed in smiles. “Sì, signora. I need vegetables, chicken, some eggs, farina, flour, corn... corn flour, oil, garlic.”
“Cornmeal?” The woman made a grinding motion with her hands.
“Sì. Cornmeal.”
In no time at all, Alice Wilkie filled what she could of Rosa’s order. The chicken, she said, must be purchased from Zetta Davis, for she was “fresh out.” Rosa stared at the canned goods that lined the shelves, but found them out of her price range.
“Anything else?” Alice asked.
“You sell wine?”
For a moment, Alice Wilkie frowned, then leaned close and whispered confidentially, “I hear tell you folks drink wine breakfast, dinner, and supper. That true?”
Rosa nodded.
“Well, Ray don’t sell wine here, Some of the folks in these parts don’t hold to liquor drinking. But if you need a smidgen, Paddie’s always good for a bottle of it, for cooking purposes, of course. I hear you plan on stayin’ here in Busted Heel.”
“Yes. I will open a small trattoria, a ristorante. I will serve the wine there.”
Alice Wilkie’s eyes widened. “I see.”
“You come by sometime.”
“When do you plan on openin’ the place?”
“Tonight.”
“Tonight!” Alice looked astounded. “This tonight?”
“Sì.” Rosa hid a smile. The woman’s face could not hide her amazement. She (hanked Alice and started for the door.
“Miss...”
“Rosa.”
“Miss Rosa,” Alice crossed the room and opened the door for her, “don’t set your heart on drummin’ up a lot of business here in Busted Heel. The few fanners hereabouts can’t afford restaurant food, an’ the big ranchers go on into Cheyenne. As far as any other business you might have, well, folks don’t hold much store in things foreign around these parts.”
Rosa nodded, not quite sure she understood all Alice Wilkie was saying. As she thanked the woman again and stepped out into the sunlight, she was certain of one thing. She would “set her heart” as Alice said, on having a lot of business. How else could it come about if she did not hold the dream in her heart?
Chapter
Seven
“What’s she doing now?
”
Kase ignored Zach’s question and stalked away from the window. He rolled the chair out from behind his desk, sat down, and shook out the latest edition of the Cheyenne Leader. With problems of his own to sort out, the last thing he needed to be concerned with was the widow Audi. Besides, Zach knew as well as he did what she was doing now. She was carrying chairs, one a time, from Paddie’s saloon to her store.
“Why, it looks like she’s carryin’ chairs down the street.” Zach answered his own question with such an innocent tone that Kase was tempted to throw the inkwell at him.
Kase turned the page and the paper crackled.
Zach would not let up. “‘Pears she’s bound to open up tonight, just like Paddie said.”
“It’s a free country,” Kase grunted.
“All the more reason why I’d be eatin’ there if I had a dollar to my name,” Zach said.
Unable to concentrate, Kase frowned at the printed page.
Zach continued to share his wealth of unsolicited knowledge. “You know, Floss and the girls went into Cheyenne for the day. Won’t be back till around nine tonight. Back too late to have dinner at the widow’s.”
Kase shifted the paper toward the window, then glanced outside. The sun would set soon. His stomach growled.
“Paddie can’t leave the bar, and you can bet that no one else is gonna take a chance and eat Eye-talian food.”
Slamming the paper down on the desk, Kase stared at Zach. “So?”
“So if someone would loan me a couple o’ dollars, I’d be willin’ to go over to the new café and have supper. I hate to see the little widow work this hard only to have no one show up on her first day of business. Unless o’ course you been plannin’ to go over.”
“Not on your life.”
Everything was ready. With hands on hips, Rosa surveyed the room and decided she was pleased with her work. Two tables along with an assortment of borrowed chairs were situated opposite each other in the center of the room. Covered with handwoven cloths from her trunk, set with silverware and glasses, complete with a candle and a small vase of black-eyed Susans, the tables only needed patrons to make them come alive.
Commingled scents of garlic and herbs wafted on air already thick with the aroma of fresh-baked bread. Rosa paused long enough to light each candle, reach up to be certain her hair was still neatly combed and twisted up on the crown of her head, then brushed at the front of her spotless white apron. She opened the front door and let the cool night air carry the fragrance of her labors out onto Main Street. Busted Heel had never smelled so good.
Rosa walked back into the kitchen, mentally reviewing the menu she planned to serve as she lifted the lids of pots and saucepans. She opened the oven door and sniffed with satisfaction at the cipolle ripiene, onions stuffed with butter and bread crumbs, that were lined up like soldiers in a pan. Chicken was simmering in tomatoes and wine; potato gnocchi sat warming on the back of the stove. Warm, thick-crusted bread waited on her worktable. For dessert, she had piled a platter with fruits and a few precious nuts purchased at Al-Ray’s. All she needed now was a customer.
An hour went by without so much as a shadow passing her door. Worried that the food might go to waste, Rosa was tempted to walk next door to Paddie’s and personally invite the cowhands who were regular customers to a special introductory meal. After all, she had spread the word about town that she would be opening her ristorante tonight. By now someone surely would have come in to eat. Perhaps if they were given a free sample, the men would realize what they were missing. Perhaps she should have waited until Flossie and the girls were back from Cheyenne.
Just as she straightened a perfectly smooth tablecloth once more and debated whether or not to blow out the candles, the one-eyed man named Zach Elliot walked through the doorway. Rosa stiffened as nervousness assailed her. She forced a welcoming smile to her lips and personally escorted him to a table. She wondered if the marshal had sent him to spy on her.
“Welcome, signore. Sit. Relax.”
“Howdy, ma’am.” He sat.
She waited for him to remove his hat. When he did not, she began to explain the menu, then ended with, “And for dessert, frutta.”
Rosa felt a bead of sweat trickle down her temple. She would not allow herself to brush it aside until he said, “I’m not rightly sure I understood all you said, ma’am, but I’m as hungry as a bear just outta hibernation, so you bring it on.”
She hovered over him while he ate, watched as he stared at the steaming potato dumplings before he dipped into the gnocchi. The chicken disappeared in the blink of an eye, and he asked for a second onion. Rosa gave him two more. He ate nearly an entire loaf of bread smothered in butter and drank two glasses of wine from a bottle she had bought at Paddie’s. When she brought out the fruit platter, Zach got to his feet.
He reached for an apple, shined it on his buckskin shirt, and smiled. “Ma’am, that was, without a doubt, one of the best meals I ever sat down to. Now, how much do I owe you?”
“Seventy-five cents,” she said, half afraid of his reaction, but Zetta had claimed the price fair enough, especially since Rosa insisted on including the wine.
“Seventy-five it is, ma’am.” He put a silver dollar on the table and started to leave.
“Signore, wait, I give you change.”
“The rest is for you, ma’am. Put it in a safe place.”
“Well?” Kase pushed away from the bar and handed his empty water glass back to Paddie. He never drank anything stronger in the evenings when trouble was likely to occur. Liquor never agreed with him anyway. He had a low tolerance for it.
“More water?” the bartender asked.
Kase nodded. Paddie lingered at the end of the bar long enough to hear what Zach had to say about his meal.
“Best damned food I ever ate.”
Much to Kase’s chagrin, the old scout announced it loud and clear enough for every man in Paddie’s to hear. “Melt in your mouth. Bread better’n what Ma used to make. Chicken so tender it won’t hardly stay on the fork. Some sort o’ floatin’ potato dumplin’s that make a grown man want to cry. Not to mention one of the prettiest little cooks in the country.”
By now every cowboy in the room was hanging on his every word.
“Where’s mis, old-timer?” one asked.
“Zach—” Kase’s voice was low and laced with warning.
“Right next door, son.”
Kase watched a virtual stampede of cowhands move through the swinging doors. Paddie pushed a glass of water along the bar toward him. “Gould you two watch the place while I go over and see if she’ll make up a covered dish for me?” Without waiting for a reply, the bald man took off his apron and hurried toward the door.
Zach leaned back against the bar and crossed his arms. In a casual tone that Kase knew spelled trouble, Zach asked, “Was that you I saw sneakin’ past the front door of the widow’s while I was eatin’?” When Kase refused to answer, the scout chuckled deep in his throat and wanted to know, “How were your beans, boy?”
It took more than the first night’s rush of customers to make Rosa’s Ristorante a success. In need of funds to purchase more staples from Al-Ray’s, Rosa went back to Flossie and told her she was willing to clean for her. Delighted, Flossie asked her to come in early every morning so that she could work downstairs while the rest of the household was sleeping. Floss excluded the upper floor from Rosa’s duties by explaining that the girls cleaned their own rooms. The plan agreed with Rosa, who would then be finished well before noon and able to prepare the evening meal at the restaurant.
For her first day on the job at the pleasure palace, Rosa donned her faded brown’ work dress and wrapped a muslin dishcloth turban style about her head. The house was as quiet as a tomb when she let herself in with the key Flossie had given her. The house smelled of cigar smoke and stale air. Rosa longed to open the heavy velvet drapes and raise the windows, but Floss had already given her instructions that the drapes were to remain
closed. Rosa lit the lamps about the room and set to work.
The place still amazed Rosa. The elegant furnishings and wine-red walls, side tables covered with keepsakes and gilded sconces, were unlike anything she had ever seen. Floss had said the items were things she’d been collecting all her life. Rosa straightened fringed pillows, swept the floors, and then dusted the various tables and bric-a-brac in the crowded room.
With a rag moistened with kerosene oil, she dampened any scratches she found on the furniture and then used the same treatment on the gilt-edged picture frames. The task accomplished, she paused and looked around. Her mind strayed to the women who slept upstairs, and she tried to forget the nature of their business and the reason why they slept so late into the day.
When everything had been cleaned to her satisfaction, she moved on to the kitchen where she tidied up the cups and glasses that had been used the night before and then set out to clean the firebox in the range. A goose-wing duster hung on the wall beside the stove, and she used it to brush the ashes out of the box. Just as she bent over, the back door opened and Kase Storm walked in as if he owned the place. He stopped suddenly at the sight of her and frowned.
Rosa looked up, her face smudged with ashes, her turban dipping low over one brow. “What are you doing here?” She set the bucket down and as she straightened, brushed the ashes from her hands. It was the second time she had seen Kase Storm since the night he had kissed her. She still assumed he had done it to frighten her away, and she wanted to let him know she did not fear him.
She watched him as he tensed, his hostility clearly visible in his unnaturally rigid stance and piercing stare. She straightened, ready to meet the challenge of his temper, surprised to find herself relishing the thought of a good argument. Not since she left Corio and Guido behind had she taken part in a real door-slamming, dish-throwing argument. Spoiling for just such an exchange, she welcomed the marshal’s antagonistic attitude.
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